When the Tiger Roars

Standing here high on the river
bankI look
way down to the bottom of the
hill,where
the brown water as a lazy old
snakewinds
and turns and goes where she
wills.It is
hot and humid in my handmade briefs,
mama
made them herself from a saffron
sheet,now they
hangs loosely down to my
knees,the
first day I wore them I wanted to
weep. My friend has a store bought lycra
suitwith
round her buttocks a saucy frill,
she fits
it as a sausage fits in it's
skin,her
father is rich, I sometimes
think.There's
no one by the river now,except for me in my flying sail
drill.Way in
the distance I hear the tiger
roar,his
breath blackens the threatening
hills. Well, the crocodile is not here
todayI once
saw him, when he took my friend
away,I
had  warned
him, but he did not
care,And mama
says,  "He who
just not listening will,then feeling he most certainly
shall."He could not fight the beast when it
cameI
wondered did he try, or did he not
care,I
watched him go without waving
goodbyeI was too sad, it was a scene from a
film. When I got home, I told his
mother,That there croc he got him by the
britches.He tumbled him and spun him round the
rushesThrew
his body high in mighty splashes,  
No, from him 
they found only bits and
pieces.You ask me now why I
hesitate,Why indeed do I shiver and shake,
Standing
here high on the river bank?
well
this is why I never, no
more,Bathe in
the river when that tiger
roars.